Of Sickly Symbols and Sleeping Masses
by Project Hypocrisy
Summary: Sephiroth's having a rough night. He decides to tell us how his uniform came to be. Some general musings ensue. One-shot.


**Of Sickly Symbols and Sleeping Masses**

**Summary:** Another one shot. Centered on the symbolic representation of SOLDIER. Wanted to answer the question of how their uniforms came to be.

**A/N: **Somewhat related to my other piece "Gravedigger". I'm thinking about doing a series but I'm not sure. Might make a collection. Let me know what you guys think :)

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><p><em>"People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf."<em>

_-George Orwell_

He did not enjoy how Shin-Ra presented him or how people thought of him. It plagued him in the most subtle of ways. As he lay in his bed, alone, in the dark, he would ponder on the ceiling all their mannerisms and gestures. The journalists, they were the ones that bothered him the most, though less so now that he was older and, dare he say, wiser. They questioned him, mundane questions, but with intonations indicative of either their strong support of everything he did or a negative evaluation of his worth as a human being. Both of which frustrated him to no end. No matter what end of the spectrum they found themselves on, polarized by whomever wormed their way into their ears first, they all found him alluring.

He wasn't being facetious. Quite on the contrary; he knew exactly why they found him alluring and it had nothing to do with him. It had everything to do with the masterminds behind Shinra's political campaign, the ones he employed after he founded Shin-Ra to prove the people wished nothing better than a totalitarian conglomerate running their government. They were brilliant, he had to admit. It was a crackpot team of writers, marketing agents, designers, media and public relations specialists, and even a psychologist or two. When Shinra knew, with rising tensions on home soil, that the creation of a specialized military unit was eminent, he called on his team to design the best looking military unit they could. The Shin-Ra military was formed on a more functional basis. But SOLDIER could not rely on function alone. No, they needed _the team_ if Shinra had any hopes of sending SOLDIER out into the world with little political outcry.

And they did. He was still young when Shinra announced that SOLDIER would be recruiting members outside the military. Young, uneducated boys flocked at the chance of becoming like him. But that was all part of Shinra's plan, wasn't it? If it weren't for the fact that he was used as a scapegoat, a beautiful bait for these young boys, they wouldn't have their cannon fodder set up as their talks with Wutai continued to degrade. He was set up to be an idol, as Shin-Ra cautiously entered the strange and foreign lands of Wutai, and continued to dominant their territory back home. And when it was time to announce the completion of his pet project SOLDIER, his very simple idea coming to fruition, the world celebrated with a sigh of relief. Fools, he thought to himself. Did they not see who he really was? If it weren't for the fact that SOLDIER uniform were soil resistant, resisting the blood and grime he would find on along his path, perhaps then they would see.

He had to admit that quite possibly the best thing to have ever been engineered by Shin-Ra Inc. was a set of uniforms. He could care less about clothing. To be honest, he had a wardrobe executive since he was fourteen, setting out everything from suits to evening wear. But he could appreciate a good piece of clothing; enjoy the feeling of a well prepared suit and marveled at how people interacted with him, depending on his attire. And that was why this interested him so. The military uniforms, designed for comfort and utility were obsolete when it came to the super solider unit. No, they needed something that would not only attract attention but would instill confidence, fear and separate them from any other military unit in the world. It began with the standard SOLDIER uniforms. They were indistinguishable amongst the CLASSES except for the colours, expertly picked by _the team_, but set SOLDIER from the rest. No longer overburdened by thick material and unnecessary protective gear, the SOLDIER uniforms were simple and refined. It was though they were tempting the world into false security, with their blues, violets and blacks, and bear arms, all while displaying the SOLDIER insignia in plain sight. He had thought people would have suspected something as they saw these men, carrying nothing but a swords on their backs, roaming their streets. Even as AVALANCHE laid it out in front of them, they refused to see what evil lurked behind those MAKO eyes, for it was a far better sight than the terrors of war.

So he didn't sympathize with them when Shin-Ra slowly took away their civil liberties at the height of the war and terrorist attacks. He understood why the passive masses allowed it to happen, for war was far more terrible than they could possibly imagine in the comforts of their homes but he would not voice his sensible concerns in the board meetings on their part. He knew his place did not call for a liberal GENERAL, voicing his dividing opinion about the war. His place was doing violence where violence was due, when they thought it necessary.

It came as no shock when he was announced as GENERAL, to a room packed with journalists and cameramen. He knew there was no other choice. He was the most jarring to the senses, the best SOLDIER representative. He knew the contradictory feelings he spurred on. Strangely alluring, they would flock to him in droves. But it was his alien appeal, and his ten mile high emotional wall, that kept people at a comfortable arm's length. Very much like the way they dressed him. When Shinra asked him to allow _the team_ to design a uniform now that he had an army to run, he allowed it. He allowed the questions and the measuring, to distill, what he assumed, was his very essence. He nearly broken down the first time he saw himself, to tear a head off, or two. He couldn't believe this is what they came up with. Shinra implored him to attend his very first diplomatic discussion with Wutai in the horrible excuse for a sadomasochistic uniform. For once, in a very long time, he was shocked. The way they looked at him. He wasn't sure what exactly it was but it wasn't out of mockery, that he was certain. How could it that a uniform, so grossly uncomfortable and odd looking, could instill a look like that from people like the Wutanese?

He decided to keep the uniform and go on a personal journey of sorts. He found that even his men had a new profound sense of respect for him, being several years their junior for the most part. Even as he prattled around HQ, the women gawked no longer but seemed to hunger for him, approaching him with reverence. He still hated the designer and plotted, on occasion, his untimely death but the man knew what he was doing apparently. He knew how to play at the human heart strings, to design the perfect man to play the role of GENERAL. And everyone seemed to buy it.

It left Sephiroth in a very lonely position. Despite the countless people that would crowd into his life, he knew it was not of his accord. He sighed inwardly as he turned over in his empty bed. Yet another night. At times he much rather keep to himself, for no one could possibly understand the breadth of his private life, but there were times when he wished it were simple for him, like the other men. Did they think of that when they saw him in his black leather uniform? Or could they only see the overtly confident man he was trained be?

Genesis once convinced him that it wasn't the uniform at all. He became the man they needed him to be when he saw the need. The overpowering aura he naturally exerted was simply well framed by premium leather. Sephiroth had to admit, it was a clever take on it. He knew he was more powerful than the rest but something kept holding him back. There was always something holding him back. Maybe it _was_ the proper framing mechanism that allowed him to better interact with those around him. They knew he was different and they needed to see that in plain sight, everything laid neatly on the table. It was the first time he could say Shin-Ra was ever so truthful and that it worked in his favor.

He adjusted himself further down the bed, into the warmth of his sheets. He rarely slept these days. Nothing neurotic, they assured. Though, it was times like these that he wondered how far he would have to go before it would become neurotic. He didn't need sleep like the others. Ever since he was a child, living in the Shin-Ra Peacekeeping Troop barracks, he knew he was completely different from the rest. He didn't sleep like the rest. Didn't have a family like the rest. Had more tests. Less friends. The one thing he noticed was the need for companionship. That's why they had him living in the barracks in the first place. They caught multiple times with rats and small animals from the lab in his bed when the researchers, he thought, had gone home for the evening. But living in the barracks offered little relief. He was still alone, just in a larger room, with more bodies lying around him. He found himself in the same situation as an adult. He was now world renowned: political leaders feared him, boys considered him a hero, men wanted to be him, women wanted to be with him. But none could explain to him the pain he had to endure as a child or even what it is like to be both hated and loved in the same breath.

It was this internal conflict, the one he would battle with every sleepless night, he feared he would bring into work one morning. He would take a cold shower, one he had grown accustomed to as young boy training in the army, still reeling from the night before. It was only when he would change into his uniform, Masamune in hand, that he began to feel like more of the man he ought to be. He marvelled at _the team's_ work. If only the masses, those ignorant sleeping masses, could see what lay underneath the shiny leather. If only they could see the man he truly was, late at night. He smiled to himself; well, that would only add a layer of charm to it all, wouldn't it?

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><p>~Project<p> 


End file.
